A Wonderful Life
by lildreamer7
Summary: FINISHED! Okay, I know it's a little late...okay, it's really late. Anyway, this is a CSI twist to the classic holiday movie.
1. Grissom's Wish

**Title:** A Wonderful Life

**Author:** lildreamer

**Rating:** T

**Pairings:** eventual Grillows

**Spoilers:** Goodbye and Good Luck, Cockroaches, Lying Down with Dogs

**Summary:** A CSI twist on the classic holiday movie.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own CSI or any of its characters. They are the property of CBS and Anthony Zuiker.

**All right, on with the story…**

* * *

Grissom walked into his condo in a dizzy silence, a million thoughts running through his head. The more he allowed the angry voices to reside in his mind, the more disoriented he became.

_How could you let this happen!_

_You let her die!_

_You ruined everything!_

_This is all your fault!_

Catherine did her best to assure him that everything would be okay. That it wasn't his fault. But if it really wasn't his fault, why did he feel so guilty?

He stripped off his shirt, kicked off his shoes, and shed the rest of his clothing. A minute later, hot water stung his skin as he stood in the shower. He let the water flood down his back and cascade over his head, fighting back tears that threatened to add to the flow.

Twenty minutes later, washed, dried, and under control, he crawled onto his bed and closed his eyes. He wouldn't be needed again for a few hours. He would need to be his best then and a quick nap would do him some good. The problem with sleep was the more you waited for it, the more reluctant it was to arrive.

He tried to empty his mind but his thoughts, like bees in a bottle, were impossible to control. Still he refused to give in. He wasn't moving from the bed. A mist of memory swirled in his brain…

* * *

A shriek pierced the silence.

All heads turned toward the kitchen door.

"_Noooooooo…_"

"What the heck?" Catherine was the first to move.

They could now hear a woman weeping in the living room. "Please…"

"Shut up!" A man shouted.

Catherine brushed past Warrick, skirted around the kitchen counter, slid to a stop at the doorway, and gasped. Cheryl Bennet, the owner of the house, was standing in the middle of the room arguing with a scruffy looking man that bore a striking resemblance to her husband. Grissom stood beside her, caught in the crossfire. Brass, Sofia, and a handful of cops poured into the room, ready to take action should the argument get out of hand.

"Just shut up and end this stupid game!"

"Hey, what's your problem, man?" Brass said, one hand traveling down toward his sidearm.

The man turned on him, trembling from head to foot. "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

"You pig!" Cheryl snarled at the man.

"You think I'm a pig?" the man asked, whirling around to face her. "Boy, you haven't changed one bit."

"What the heck are you talking about?"

"She's so full of lies that she can't even tell a simple truth. She's _incapable_ of telling the truth." He saw the hatred burning in her eyes and spread his arms wide, challenging her. "Go ahead, I dare you. But don't stand here lying to my face."

Cheryl settled and took a step toward him. "You want me to be honest, is that it, Kyle? You think that'll just fix everything? Okay. I did hate you. I still do hate you because you never forgave me for killing them. You didn't have the guts to stop me from killing them, and you've never had the guts to accept it. I think that makes you as guilty as me."

Her admission sucked the air from the room. Brass was the first to recover.

"You killed your father?" he asked.

Cheryl ignored the question, eyes drilling Kyle. A slight smile found her face. It was as if the rest of them weren't there; this was a private forbidden conversation between husband and wife.

"You little b—"

"Shut up, Kyle, before I throw up on you," Cheryl said coldly.

Kyle suddenly screamed, a terrifying howl of rage and fear mashed together as one. He jumped forward, wrenched a gun from the belt of the nearest officer, swung it up in line with Cheryl's head, and pulled the trigger.

_Boom!_

The gun bucked in his hand. Cheryl's head snapped back, eyes perfectly round with shock.

_Boom, boom, boom!_ He emptied the gun into her chest.

She dropped back on her seat beside Brass and Grissom and flopped facedown before Catherine had time to comprehend the extent of the damage.

"Oh my—" Grissom dropped to his knees beside her, checking her vitals.

He turned her over. Blood pooled under her. There was no way she could survive this.

He pushed himself slowly to his feet, staring down, face white. He staggered backward; then he turned and fled the room.

Cheryl was dead. Murderer or not, she was really dead. Killed right in front of a dozen witnesses.

And by the look on Grissom's face, Catherine wasn't sure that he wouldn't try to take his own life. Sofia stood in shock with her gun pointed at the floor; Kyle slowly sank to his knees beside the woman he'd killed as an officer slapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists; and Catherine ran out after Grissom.

"Grissom! Wait, Gil!" She raced through the foyer and crashed through the front door just as it was closing. "Please, Gil…"

She got halfway through the front door before pulling up. Grissom was there, on the landing, sitting on the steps. The paramedics had just arrived and were rushing past him to get inside. But that didn't concern Catherine very much. Grissom was all she cared about now. And Grissom was falling to pieces.

She sat down beside him and folded her legs back to the side. He remained quiet, his head in his hands.

"Gil."

He was breathing, but nothing more. Frozen from the inside out. The silence stretched, and Catherine sat beside him feeling his tension, hearing his breathing. It broke her heart to see him this way. She wondered if it would be appropriate to put a hand on his arm but immediately decided it wouldn't.

She took a calming breath. "Gil, this isn't your fault…"

He held up a hand to silence her. "Don't." He lifted his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Just—just don't. Okay."

She looked at his haggard face. His hair wasn't as neatly combed as usual. His blue eyes looked more desperate than enchanting now. The man needed rest.

"I know you've been through a lot lately with Sara leaving then Warrick acting out. I know it's hard—"

"I don't think you have a clue about how hard it is!" Grissom snapped, facing her with a wild-eyed stare. "You don't know what's it like!"

She stared at him, taken back. "Gil…"

"If you haven't noticed, we live in a world where the ability of one human to be cruel to another has been raised to a whole new level. I mean, just last month I went to a house near Lake Mead. A man had murdered his wife. Not just murdered. No, that wasn't good enough for him. He had to go to the next level. He strung her up by the wrists from the ceiling and beat her to death with a baseball bat. You think what happened back there was bad. It was nothing compared to that crime scene. My job is to make sense of it. Find clues. Put the lowlife away for good. I've been trained to be detached, but how do you stay detached in a room that has blood spatter on every surface and a corpse beaten beyond recognition hanging from the chandelier?

"Last week, I helped nail a person responsible for the death of a newborn baby left inside a dumpster at WLVU. We got the killer. It was the child's mother. She was seventeen. _Seventeen!_ By my count, that's _two_ lives wasted."

He stood, running a hand through his hair. "I live in a world where passion is measured with a rape kit; anger by blood spatter; hatred by the caliber of automatic weapon used." He paced then flung his arms wide. "I live in a world where child abuse is no longer shocking and is mentioned on the evening news only if there's time after the discussion of which starlet is back in rehab."

Catherine didn't move. She sat there like a rock, listening patiently. "I live in a world where we have to ask questions like 'What do we do with an eleven-year-old murderer?' and 'Whose responsibility is it to care for drug-dependent babies born to parents too stoned to know when to feed the child?' I live in a world where junior-high girls beat another girl to death because she made a face at them."

Catherine fought back tears. She had no idea the heavy burden her friend was carrying. It seemed as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. She reached out her hand and put it on his arm.

"My life is a mess, Catherine. And I've had enough, I've seen enough, I want it to end. I don't care anymore."

"Your life's not a mess, Gil. Your life is beautiful."

"My life _was_ beautiful. It was great. It was whole…" As he spoke, a gurney covered with a white sheet was rolled out of the house, the coroner in tow. A pale, limp hand slid from underneath the sheet. He frowned as they walked past. "Now, that is my life. And it can't be fixed."

Catherine stood, desperately wanting to reach out to him. "No, you don't mean—"

He stepped away from Catherine, picked up his kit and started back to his Denali. "I wish—I wish I'd never become a CSI."

* * *

Grissom heard the ringing long before he awoke. It sounded like a high-pitched laugh. Or an intermittent scream.

His eyes somehow managed to open. Moonlight shone through the window. Where was he? Home. His mind started to drift. He would have to get up eventually and go to work, but at the moment he felt as though he'd met the wrong end of a rhino charge. He closed his eyes.

There was that sound again.

His eyes snapped open. The phone was ringing. He stumbled out of bed. Not fully awake, he snapped up the receiver.

"Yeah…I mean, hello."

"Hey, Gil. It's Jim. We got a 4-19 down at the Strip."

He was fully awake now. "I'll be right there."

Seven minutes later he was dressed, his hair was combed, and he was ready to go. The early morning air felt cool on his clammy skin. One o'clock. The underworld was only just beginning to stir, the nightcrawlers coming out of their hiding places.

He started the car and headed west, merging with the steady flow of traffic. As he neared the Las Vegas Strip, he counted three tour buses, a line of taxis, and a stream of cars in the area. Weary but exited tourists made the brightly lit street a beehive. Even in the middle of the night, the city was buzzing with activity. If New York is "the city that never sleeps," then Vegas is the city where the word 'sleep' doesn't appear in the dictionary.

Five minutes later, he reached the casino that now held a crime scene. Several police cruisers were parked in front of the building, the red and blue lights adding to the neon lights that lit up the entire street. A few officers were guarding the entrance; one was on the radio. Brass was standing by the doors talking to a young valet. And judging by the presence of a couple of Denalis parked on the premises, the rest of his team was already here.

He found a place to park, shut off the engine, and grabbed his kit from the passenger's seat. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the chaos of the street and climbed out of his car—

Wrong. All wrong

He froze where he stood, hardly breathing, nothing moving but his eyes as he scanned left and right, taking in scenery he wasn't ready to believe.

* * *

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	2. The Stranger

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In front of him—right where the casino was supposed to be—was a familiar building where various vehicles including a few police cruisers and the company Denalis were parked just outside. But it wasn't a crime scene.

It was the crime lab.

Grissom blinked, and blinked again. But he just saw the same scene he'd tried to shut out.

Something touched his shoulder. A hand.

"Take a deep breath." A young and pretty redhead was standing beside him. Her eyes expressed concern, but the hint of a grin on her face showed that she was somewhat enjoying this.

"But…What?…How?"

"Breathe," she said. "Good, now again."

Grissom ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. He seriously thought he was losing his mind. "I've got to get out of here…get back."

He turned and looked for his car. But instead of seeing his black SUV, he saw nothing. There was just an empty space where his vehicle had been.

"Come with me," the young woman said. It sounded like an order.

"Where's my car? Where's the casino, the crime scene…?"

"Come with me."

He gave the woman a confused look. "Come with you, where?"

"Don't forget your kit." She turned and started to walk away.

He considered staying put, but thought better of it. The young woman seemed to know more than she was letting on. Just as he decided to follow her, someone came up from behind and roughly shoved him aside.

"Out of the way, old man!"

Two guys and a young woman wearing CSI vests brushed past him, hauling in what looked like new evidence. One of the guys looked familiar, but he'd walked by too fast for him to get a good look.

"Things will go much better if you stay with me." The woman was standing next to him again. She picked up his kit and handed it to him. He took it. A second later he was following her toward the building.

"Who are you?"

"You can call me Claire."

They stepped into the lab and Grissom had to fight the urge to rub his eyes. This wasn't the crime lab he remembered. The place that had once been so full of life and laughter now had an atmosphere that was cold and uninviting. Lab techs walked around with their eyes downward, hands in pockets if not carrying stacks of folders. Investigators roamed the hallways darting from one lab to another, hardly taking any time for a casual conversation. They were like mindless automatons consumed by their work. And those who didn't belong simply were not welcome there.

"Where am I? This—this can't be real…I've had a psychotic break or—or something—"

"Your mind is fine," Claire stated, "although your actions indicate otherwise."

"How else do you expect me to act? One minute I'm headed to a crime scene, the next I'm back at the crime lab where everyone is acting very strange and a woman I don't even know is ordering me around like a Marine sergeant."

She arched an eyebrow. "Isn't this what you wished for?"

"What??"

She tilted her head in the direction of where his office was supposed to be. He gave her a strange look and chanced a glance inside. To his shock and surprise, all his things were gone. The shelves lined with jars that held various creatures, the certificates and posters he'd hung on the walls, the clutter on the desk—everything. Any and all trace of him. It was all gone. And in their place was a cherry-paneled office with a squeaky clean desk, a wood valet in one corner, and a fancy leather couch against the wall.

His confused gaze shifted toward the nameplate sitting neatly on the desktop. His brow furrowed.

_Jim Brass_

_Supervisor_

He shook his head. "This is impossible."

"Yet here you are."

"I'm more inclined to believe that a blood vessel has ruptured in my brain and I'm lying on the bed in my condo dreaming all this."

"Well then, you won't mind looking at a few places in your dreamworld. What have you got to lose?"

"Make fun of me all you want, but I'm not playing along."

"Fine. Have it your way," Claire said and strolled past.

Grissom stood there, in the middle of the lobby, feeling out of place in a world he'd known so well. But this world was different, wasn't it? Claire had suggested that this was all part of a wish he'd made. Could it be true? Had his wish really been granted? Was he no longer a CSI? So many questions were running through his head. It was starting to make him dizzy.

"Hey, you okay, mister?"

The voice made him jump. He looked around and found the receptionist staring at him. Somehow he'd found his way to the front desk without realizing it.

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine," he assured her. "Just a little headache."

She studied him for a moment. "You must be the new guy. The name's Judy."

"Grissom…" His voice trailed off when he caught sight of a familiar face just beyond the front doors.

The receptionist glanced up to where a CSI was talking to a reporter. "Don't let Brass get to you. He's a good guy. Full of himself, maybe. Case like this will send him through the roof."

"Why's that?"

"Publicity. Let's just say he has his aspirations." She smiled. "Don't worry. Like I said, he's a good investigator."

From the looks of it, Brass was a walking media package, right down to the bone. He was holding a news conference, of all things, in the middle of the night.

As if on cue, Brass turned from the camera and began making his way back inside.

Grissom turned to find Claire. "Okay, this isn't funny. Take me back."

"Back where?"

He ran his hands over his face. "Back to the crime scene and the _real_ crime lab."

"No."

"What? Why not?"

Claire just smiled.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"There are some things I want you to see."

* * *

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	3. Greg

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A loud crash echoed through the entire building followed by a very angry voice. Claire winced as both she and Grissom turned in the direction of the sound. Two familiar faces were standing just outside the DNA lab. It was a nervous-looking Greg and a very upset Ecklie. Broken glass was lying at the young lab tech's feet along with some papers stained by some kind of pink liquid. As the head of the lab yelled at him for his blunder, Greg did his best to melt his six-foot frame into the floor.

"That happens again, Sanders, you're fired! Got that?"

"Y—yes, sir."

"Good. Now, clean up this mess!" Ecklie turned and left. Everyone parted like the Red Sea as he passed, giving him a wide berth. The guy was an ice sculpture in a suit. They were terrified of him.

Greg nodded obediently and sent someone to fetch a mop and bucket while he began sweeping up the shards of glass. Realizing that no one else would be coming to help him, Grissom slipped on a pair of gloves, went over, and began carefully picking up and bagging the bigger pieces.

"Hey…um…thanks," Greg said, once they were finished.

"It's no problem," Grissom answered, absently tossing his dirty gloves back into his kit.

Greg was about to say something else but never got the chance. Another angry-looking guy was heading his way.

He swore. "He's gonna kill me."

"Who?"

Greg bolted back into his lab, leaving a puzzled Grissom out in the hallway. He looked around and spotted the man the young lab tech seemed intent on hiding from.

"Hey, Sanders, what's up with that report I asked for?" Brass demanded, walking into the lab, passing Grissom like he wasn't there.

"It's right here." Greg grabbed a folder off the workbench and handed it over. "The results came back inconclusive."

Brass winced. "That was quick."

"No, no, we really did the sequencing, but the sample was contaminated."

"Oh, come on! I brought a whole truckload of samples. There would have been more than enough DNA present."

"Hey, they did the best they could."

"Well, can I get the samples back?"

"Uh…that's gonna be a slight problem. There was an…accident." Brass was incredulous. "I didn't mean to—It just sort of happened."

"You son of a—I told you to be careful! Don't you ever listen? No. You don't. That's why I almost fired you."

"Hey, I was having problems with Mia back then. You remember that."

"So is that your problem now, your love life?"

Greg brightened at the very thought of it. "Aw, no, it's just great. It's Wendy, remember her? She—"

"Sanders!"

Greg had to return to this world. "Sorry."

"This better not happen again."

"It won't. I swear."

That cooled the supervisor's jets. A bit. He did all he could to hold his tongue and stomped out of the room without another word.

Greg let out a sigh of relief, slumping into a chair.

"Why is he still working DNA?" Grissom asked, watching his friend straighten out his work area. "Shouldn't he be out in the field?"

Claire shook her head. "He's not a CSI. He's been stuck in the lab his entire career. Nobody wants to give him a chance to prove himself…like you did."

Grissom's professional demeanor weakened for a moment, but he quickly shook it off. "I'll figure this out, you know—unless I'm right about the stroke. In that case, I'm bleeding into my brain and all of this will disappear when I die."

"You are a morbid man, Gil Grissom."

"I'm practical. It's the way I was trained. I'm a man of facts."

Claire laughed. "As long as the facts suit your needs."

"Hey, you don't know me," he shot back. "We've been together—what? A few minutes? You don't know anything about me."

"Gil," Claire began in soft tones. "You'd be surprised at what I know."

* * *

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	4. Nick

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Nick hurried down the hall, his pulse hammering with an urgency he hadn't felt in a long time. The report had come in hours ago, but he hadn't been told. Why? He rounded the corner and shoved the CSI supervisor's door open.

Grissom and Claire stood nearby watching all of this unfold. "What's going on?"

Claire shrugged and directed him to a place where he could watch and listen in without being seen.

Brass sat at his desk, phone pressed to his ear, which was actually a good thing because it forced him to watch his language when he saw who barged in. His eyes went frosty cold, but he held his demeanor, putting his hand over the receiver.

"Stokes, this is not a good time."

"But sir—"

Brass waved him off. Nick didn't move and crossed his arms while the supervisor talked on. Noticing his unwanted guest was still there, Brass glared at him for a long moment, then spoke to the phone, "Uh, got some problems here at the office. Can I call you back?"

He hung up.

"Stokes, this better be—"

"Why wasn't I told?" Nick demanded.

Brass spread his hands. "You obviously were."

Nick scowled at him. "What are you trying to pull?"

Brass tapped his finger on the desk absently. "I was thinking of letting Mike take over in the field. Let you work here in a coordination role."

Nick felt his face flush. "This is my case! You can't just remove me!"

"Did I say remove? I don't remember using that word. And if you haven't noticed in your years with the lab, we juggle investigators quite frequently for a number of reasons."

"No one knows this case like I do," Nick said. He wouldn't actually do this. He was way too valuable on the case! "You can't do this to me."

They locked stares. "Well, I just did. Now, get out of my office before I have you fired for insubordination!"

"Fine," Nick huffed angrily and stormed out of the room.

Brass followed just a few seconds behind and watched him go down the hall toward the front door. The supervisor was not quite as poised as before.

Judy looked up from her desk. "Everything okay?"

He grunted and returned to his office without a word. He circled behind his expansive desk, unconsciously checked his hair, then consciously checked his desk, his way of assuring himself that his world was still stable, predictable, and under his control.

* * *

Grissom and Claire followed Nick outside. They found him sitting on a bench trying to reign in his emotions. The cold glare of a nearby lamppost cast an eerie glow on his face, revealing the desperate look in his eyes.

Claire shook her head solemnly. "Poor guy. He moved to Vegas because he was tired of living in his parents' shadow. But it seems to be no different here. His teammates don't really care about him. When they're not using him as their own personal slave, he's like the invisible man. And you saw how his supervisor treated him."

"But what can I do?"

Claire pushed him forward. "Talk to him."

Grissom gave her a brief sideways glance before moving the rest of the way. He slowly approached the man that, in another life, had been his friend and took a seat next to him.

"Hey…um…I saw what happened back there—"

Nick turned away from him. "Leave me alone."

Grissom looked to Claire for guidance. She gave a slight nod. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"Look, I know it's hard, but…" A sense of déjà vu suddenly came over him. Hadn't Catherine said the same thing to him before all this had happened? The thought of his best friend seemed to calm his nerves. A warm smile appeared on his face. "Don't give up. Things will work out, you'll see."

Nick sighed and turned to meet Grissom's gaze. "You really think so?"

"I _know_ so."

"Thanks, man," Nick smiled a small, sad half smile. "I saw what you did earlier. Helping Greg clean up that mess. You're a good friend. There aren't many people like you around here anymore. What was your name?"

"It's Grissom, Gil Grissom"

"Grissom…" Nick repeated, thoughtfully. He stood and pulled out his car keys. "Well, Merry Christmas, Grissom. See you around the lab some time."

He turned and headed toward the parking lot. He carried his head a little higher, and a bit of weight had come off his shoulders.

Claire took Nick's place beside Grissom, watching the CSI get into his car and drive off. "He's a good guy. He's just a little lost. He needs a friend to help him find his way."

"What does that have to do with…" Grissom suddenly realized something. "Wait a minute—where's Warrick?"

* * *

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	5. Warrick

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Las Vegas is a beautiful city at night—a bejeweled oasis in a barren desert—and when the sky is clear, the glimmering neon lights of the strip mingle with the stars. But like every city, Vegas has its darkside—its troubled streets, its districts of decay that become gathering places for those who have nowhere else to go.

"Warrick was fired from the lab a few years ago. They caught him gambling on duty." Claire led Grissom to a small casino located just off the strip. "This is where he spends most of his time now. With every dollar he gambles away, he loses a bit of himself."

Instead of going through the front door, Claire pulled him into a dark and dingy alleyway out back.

Three big, tough, and ugly guys suddenly came bursting through the back door with Warrick walking—sometimes—between them, some bruises on his face and some blood on his hand. Claire and Grissom followed at a distance, the latter stunned, confused, speechless. The three big bruisers dropped him by the opposite wall, and then stood there, defying him to get up. He'd learned better than that and chose not to, but sat there glowering, huffing through clenched teeth, holding his wounded hand.

By the time Grissom and Claire found a place where they could watch without getting caught, the three thugs had surrounded Warrick. He was trying to run, tripping, falling, and crawling on the ground, trying to get up, knocked down again, crawling again, covering his head with one arm as the Big Three kicked, punched, slapped, and shoved him. Warrick threw a few punches, but the toughs throwing punches back were bigger than he was. A man dressed in a designer suit, hair slicked back, probably the owner, appeared between them with a full champagne glass in hand. He stirred it around with his finger, looked Warrick over with a sneering, judgmental eye, then poured it all over the x-CSI, a smug smile on his face.

"That'll teach ya to cheat in my casino," the man sneered.

No longer able to just stand by in the shadows and do nothing, Grissom came running, shouting.

"Stop this!" he yelled, totally indignant. "Leave him alone!"

Too shocked to realize what was really going on, the thugs and their boss immediately bolted inside, afraid that they'd been caught by the cops. Which wasn't that far off.

"Here, let me help you," Grissom offered, reaching a hand down to his fallen comrade.

Warrick stared at his hand for moment then hesitantly took it. Tattered, bruised, and soaked with champagne, he slowly got to his feet.

"Thanks," he mumbled, giving himself a once over.

"Tough times?" Grissom asked, knowingly.

Warrick nodded slowly, examining his bleeding hand. "You could say that."

"Well, it's been my experience that when you reach rock bottom, the only place left to go is up."

"If only it were that simple…" Warrick let out a heavy sigh. "I'm so tired of scrounging. I've had my chance."

Grissom didn't know what else to say. It was clear that Warrick had already given up on life a long time ago.

"Well, I gotta go." He turned to leave. "Thanks for saving me back there, man. I owe you one."

"Yeah…" Grissom frowned as he watched Warrick limp out of the alley. "Well, aside from the gambling problem, he seems to be okay."

"Yeah, if being a pickpocket is okay." Just as Claire said that, they saw Warrick bump into someone and discreetly slip something out of their pocket. "It's the only way he can fund his obsession. Everything he had, he's gambled away. He's gotten himself into a pretty deep hole…and he's bringing someone else down with him."

Grissom's eyes widened when he saw a car drive up beside Warrick and lower its window. It was Nick. They greeted each other like old friends. So, they still knew each other. Even after all that they had been through, they were still buddies. Nick said something. It looked urgent. Warrick glanced around, making sure no one was watching, and tossed him a small pill bottle. Nick caught it, quickly stowed it away, thanked him, and drove off, leaving Warrick to wander the streets alone.

"You know what those pills are, don't you?" Claire asked.

Grissom shook his head. "No, not Nick. He wouldn't." He said the words, but even he didn't believe them. After what he'd seen so far in this twisted world Claire was showing him, it seemed like anything was possible.

Claire knew she was hurting him, but he needed to see it—all of it. "I'm so sorry."

"After seeing how the guys turned out, I hate to see what happened to Sara."

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	6. Sara

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"Sara's back in San Francisco. Working for the SFPD." Claire explained, as they walked down the gloomy streets on the darkside of town. "She never came to Vegas. Didn't have a reason to."

"What are you talking about? I invited her to come—oh…" The reality that he didn't exist in this world finally hit him, hard.

They walked side by side in silence for several long minutes, each deep in their own thoughts. Yet, next to the all the things he'd witnessed today, Grissom felt unusually peaceful, as if he were walking with his guardian angel. He wondered about Claire's true intentions.

Five minutes later they found themselves sitting in an all-night café. Claire was sipping contentedly at a steaming cup of coffee. Grissom sat across from her and had barely touched his. His mind seemed to be somewhere else. His attention was suddenly drawn to the TV when the news started doing a special report about a crime spree in San Francisco. They had broken into an old black-and-white holiday movie to show film of what they described as "another life lost to the Bayside serial killer." They were showing what was left of the crime scene. The reporter was standing near the yellow tape. A couple of local CSIs could be seen in the background, picking through a dumpster.

"The body was found early this morning, just before dawn," the reporter said. "Some employees from this local grocery store were heading home for the night when they discovered the body. Authorities say that the victim, about 30 years of age, was beaten to death then decapitated, the Bayside killer's signature. They do not wish to reveal the victim's identity as of yet, but a full investigation is under way and we will have more details for you as the story unfolds…"

As the reporter continued to drone on, Grissom's eyes fixed on a familiar face that the camera had focused on. It was Sara. She was in a heated argument with someone and giving him plenty of attitude. She suddenly spotted the camera watching them and went after the cameraman, swearing at him and pushing the camera out of her face. Grissom had never seen her so upset.

Grissom turned away from the television as the reporter shot the show back to the studio.

"She so angry," he said, staring down at his now cold coffee.

"You would be too if a ruthless killer kept slipping through your fingers. Right now, she's yelling at one of her colleagues because he just lost a key piece of evidence. Her boss is there, too. And he's not happy." She made a gesture with her thumb and forefinger. "She's this close to getting fired."

Grissom's head snapped up. "Now, how the heck could you possibly know that?"

Claire smiled. "I'm a watcher."

"A watcher of what?"

"Mankind."

Grissom gave her a strange look. What was that supposed to mean? He let it go. He pushed his drink aside and stared out the window.

This world was definitely different. But _not_ better.

"How could things be this bad without me?"

"I guess someone like you makes a big difference in a lot of lives."

"But I'm just one man."

"You know what," Claire stood from her seat, preparing to go back out into the streets. "I think there's someone else you should see."

Grissom turned to face her, knowingly. "Catherine."

* * *

**You wanna see how Catherine turned out? Well, ya gotta review!**


	7. Catherine

**Hey, there! Sorry for taking so long to update. I caught someone's cold and have been away from my computer. Also, I live in Arizona, so this past weekend was a bit crazy with the Super Bowl and all. Anyway, thanx 2…**

spottedhorse

SupernaturalCSI

iferleigh

NicknGrisfan

**…for all the reviews. And I thank all my readers for their patience. This chappy's for you! Enjoy!

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**

They hurried down darkened streets, Claire leading the way. Every minute they walked, the fewer people they saw. An old apartment building loomed in the distance.

"Where are we going?" Grissom asked, trailing behind.

"It's not far," Claire answered plainly. "Stay with me."

"As if I have a choice."

As they continued walking, Grissom's kit grew heavier in his hands and he was beginning to wish he'd left it behind. A car sped by and splashed through a puddle. He glared after the it, water dripping off his clothes.

"Hang on," he said, setting his kit down. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping his hands and shirt. A minute later he was done, his clothes stained but not noticeable.

He was also alone.

Claire had left him.

His eyes scanned left and right through the streets searching for his guide but caught no sight of her. That puzzled him. It had taken him less than two minutes to clean himself up.

He swore under his breath. Who was she to drag him all over town then abandon him? It wasn't like he'd asked for all this. He gazed back up the street and considered returning the way they'd come. But he quickly dismissed the idea. Claire brought him all the way out here for a reason. Something to do with Catherine.

He suddenly noticed a trail of muddy footprints on the sidewalk probably left behind by Claire. He decided to follow. Eyes glued to the ground, he started forward. Her tracks were what he expected for a woman her size—small and evenly spaced. They were full prints, no signs of running or sprinting, which would leave a different impression.

Ten minutes of careful walking later, he found her. She stood with her back to him, hands stuffed in her pockets. An old apartment building stood in front of her.

"What's going on?" Grissom demanded, trying to catch his breath. "Why did you leave me back there?"

Claire stood unmoving and silent.

He set his kit down and moved toward her. That's when he realized that she was staring at something. He moved closer and followed her gaze. Her eyes were fixed on a brightly lit window a few floors up in the building. The occupants were still awake.

"What are we doing here?"

"You'll see." Her words were soft and left her mouth as if laden with more weight than they could hold.

The sound of her words was sad enough to take any anger and doubt from him.

"You okay?"

She nodded, leading Grissom to the main door.

Grissom glanced up at the building that looked as though it had been there since the beginning of time. It was cold and uninviting. "Catherine lives in this godforsaken place?"

Claire let out a heavy sigh, giving him his answer.

Grissom walked past her to the main door. He paused. Something suddenly occurred to him. "Wait, isn't she still a CSI?"

She shook her head sadly. "She tried. But she just couldn't find her place. So, she left. Went back to her old life."

Grissom winced, knowing full well what that meant. He pulled the door open and looked at the main hall. The stairs ascended on the left to the actual apartments.

Claire was saying something, but Grissom had his mind on those stairs. He desperately wanted to see his friend. He glanced down the hall, saw that no one else was around, then ascended the stairs two at a time.

"She's on the fourth floor!" Claire called after him. "Number 19…"

A few minutes later, Grissom found himself standing at the last door at the end of the hallway. He stepped gingerly toward the door. He could see light from a dozen thin cracks in the door paneling now. Could hear the sound of a man's muffled voice. It sounded vaguely familiar.

There was a soft noise to his right. He whirled around and caught sight of a small figure sneaking around. He didn't recognize her at first, then she looked directly at him.

"Lindsey?" Her hair had been dyed black and she was wearing all black clothes and black make-up, but it was her. Catherine's teenage daughter.

The young girl stopped in her tracks and gave him a look. "Do I know you?" she asked in the dull tone of a glum, leave-me-alone teenager.

Grissom opened his mouth to respond but never got the chance because the voices in the apartment suddenly grew louder. A man and woman were arguing. It sounded like the man was winning.

"They're having another 'discussion,'" he heard Lindsey mutter from beside him.

He turned to look at her and found her staring at the closed door with loathing. "That's a pretty loud discussion."

The girl shrugged, wandering over to the staircase. She plopped down onto the first step, her back against the wall. She had her knees drawn up and her head lowered between them. Grissom's heart went out to her. _What that girl must be going through…_

A yell suddenly cut the silence, making Grissom jump. His pumping heart thumped in his ears. "What was that?"

The cry came again from the apartment. "_…nooooo, please!"_

Grissom bounded for the door and pressed his ear against it. There was the sickening sound of a blow, then the thump of a body hitting the floor. He jumped back when the door suddenly swung open and a man came storming out. His eyes widened when he realized who it was. Eddie.

"What are you looking at?" said the sour-faced man as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Without waiting for an answer, he stomped down the stairs, pushing past a glaring Lindsey.

"Move it, you little brat!" The man's words were iceberg cold.

Grissom saw something flash in Lindsey's eyes. Something that reminded him of Catherine. As Eddie reached for the girl, she looked directly into his face, refusing to give him the satisfaction of averting her eyes. She showed him no fear.

"Hey!" A hand—Grissom's hand—seized the man's elbow. The girl had been a half second away from a resounding backhand.

Eddie yanked his arm away from him. "Stay out of this!"

Grissom refused to back down. Straightening his shoulders, he told him in a quiet but firm voice, "Leave. Now."

The disgruntled man huffed, spun, and marched down the rest of the stairs and out the front door, vanishing into the night.

"Lindsey…" a quiet voice called, drawing both Grissom and Lindsey's attention.

They both turned toward the apartment where a familiar figure was leaning heavily against the doorway, her strawberry-blonde hair disheveled. She stared at them with a tear-stained face.

Grissom's heart caught in his throat. _Catherine…_

What had happened to her? Her face was bruised, and one eye was puffy. Her nose and mouth had been bleeding. And there was a nasty-looking bump on the left side of her head, just above the ear.

She took a step forward, limping slightly, and reached her arms out to her daughter.

"Mom!" Lindsey sobbed, running into her mother's arms.

The girl embraced her mother as she held her, kissed her, clung to her. Then Catherine's gaze shifted over her daughter's shoulder at the stranger watching them.

"Who—who are you?" she demanded, uneasy.

"Mom, it's okay," Lindsey said, patting her mother's arm. She turned to Grissom, a small smile on her face. "He's a friend."

Though she still held her daughter protectively, Catherine allowed Grissom to approach them.

He took a few tentative steps toward her, a truly concerned look on his face. "Are you…what happened?"

* * *

Catherine sat on the couch, holding a cold compress against her face with one hand while holding her daughter's hand with the other. Grissom sat across from them in an armchair watching them with a look of infinite sadness in his eyes. The woman that in another life was his best friend had been through something horrible.

"It's probably none of my business," Grissom began, breaking the silence. "But I need to ask it anyway—"

"Look, couples fight, okay?" Catherine snapped, refusing to meet his gaze. "It's not a crime."

"It is, if somebody gets hurt." Catherine's lips quivered slightly and Grissom suddenly felt bad for raising his voice. He quickly apologized then in a gentle tone asked, "What's going on?"

Catherine sighed, her eyes downcast. "There were some changes at his job. And it's been rough on Eddie and—"

"And he hit you?"

"Sometimes he just gets so angry," Catherine admitted, letting a tear slip from her eye.

"_Sometimes?_" Grissom stared at her in disbelief. "You mean he's hit you before?"

She turned away, either too afraid or too embarrassed to answer. They sat in silence for a few moments, then in a voice barely above a whisper she began to speak again. "Eddie made a mistake at his job a couple of months ago. He was the assistant manager, you know—the big boss. Anyway, it was a huge mistake. Caused a lot of problems. They made him step down. Fewer hours. Less pressure."

"Less prestige." Grissom nodded, understanding. "Well, no wonder he's so angry—he doesn't get to play God anymore. That explains a lot…but it doesn't excuse it. And what about your daughter? Aren't you worried about her?"

Catherine suddenly spun in her seat, glaring at him. "Eddie has _never_ touched Lindsey."

Grissom frowned. "Oh, that's nice—just you."

Catherine lowered her head. She looked like she wanted to cry. Grissom desperately wanted to reach out to her, pull her into his arms, tell her everything would be okay, but he knew she would never allow him to touch her. Not after all she'd been through.

"You know, it's all right to cry if you want to," he soothed.

Catherine shook her head. "Eddie doesn't like it when I cry."

"Well, it seems to me, Eddie doesn't like anything. That doesn't mean he's always right. How long are you gonna try to hide this punishment?"

"It's nothing, okay," Catherine insisted. "You don't understand our relationship."

Grissom ran his hands over his face, exasperated. "You can't have a relationship with somebody who is beating you to death!"

He'd hit a nerve. With a sob, Catherine buried her head in her hands, trying to hide the tears. Her daughter rubbed her back, trying to comfort her.

And Grissom found himself apologizing again.

Catherine held back a sob and looked at him. "Somehow," she said, her voice cracking. "I knew I was going to tell you all this. Why?"

"I can think of a couple of reasons. First, I'm no stranger to pain."

Catherine nodded, wiping her eyes.

"Second…" Taking a chance, Grissom leaned forward and put a hand on top of hers. "I care."

Catherine looked up at him with heartbreakingly sad eyes then looked down at their conjoined hands. The tears came back, but so did the uneasiness. She suddenly yanked her hand away from him.

Surprised, Grissom said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

She cut him off. "Thanks for you concern, but don't try to fix me."

"Mom, what are you doing?" Lindsey said, speaking up for the first time. "He's trying to help you. You can trust him."

Catherine shook her head. "There's never been a 'him' worth trusting."

"All the hims you've ever known have always hurt you, haven't they?" Grissom said softly.

She clenched her fists, her eyes downcast. "Please, leave."

Both Grissom and Lindsey began to protest, but their words fell on deaf ears. Catherine's head shot up and she faced Grissom with a wild-eyed stare. "GET OUT!"

Sighing, Grissom resignedly stood from his seat and began heading for the door. He took one last look over his shoulder and saw Lindsey glare at her mother and stomp out of the room and into the back of the apartment. He heard a door slam loudly. Then everything was still, except for the quietly sobbing figure on the couch.

"It looks like there's more than one angry person in this family," Grissom whispered, stepping out the door and out of that nightmare.

* * *

Grissom met Claire outside. She was standing underneath a streetlight, staring into the distance. As the CSI came to stand next to her, she shifted her gaze toward the apartment building.

"There's a cycle of abuse in that home and it didn't start with her husband," Claire said quietly. "It's been there for years."

"How could she have let it get this far?" Grissom said, his voice laced with sadness.

"She has no one to turn to. Both her parents have abandoned her. Her daughter is drifting farther and farther away. She's alone. She has no one on her side. No one to stand in her corner."

"This isn't how I thought it would be."

"Things like this never are…but you see, there is always hope." Claire gestured toward the window she'd been staring up at earlier.

Grissom looked up and found Catherine staring out the window at him. Their eyes met and he saw her lips curve into a small smile. He couldn't help but smile back. He'd found her. He finally saw, under that broken and bruised woman, the Catherine he'd known was there all along—the confident, competent woman he'd grown to love.

_Love?_ Where did that come from? Did he really love her? Yes, of course he did. As a friend. But nothing more. Right? But as he thought about it more, he realized that wasn't exactly true. They'd always been friends, but somewhere along the way, something had changed. He and Catherine shared a bond that went beyond friendship. A bond that he'd discovered he couldn't have with anyone else—no matter how hard he tried. He never understood it until now.

He had fallen in love with Catherine a long time ago.

Grissom pulled himself from his thoughts and turned to ask Claire what was next. But she was gone…again.

"Claire??"

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**Yay! Only one more chapter to go! Are you ready for it? Review!**


	8. Was it all a dream?

**Hey, ya'll! Here's the final chapter! And just in time for Valentine's Day! Thanx to everyone who reviewed throughout the creation of this story. You guys rock!**

**And now, the conclusion….

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Grissom couldn't find Claire anywhere, so he went back to where this whole thing had started. The crime lab.

He walked inside and asked the receptionist if she'd seen the young redhead, but the answer was negative. It was also a bit unusual. When he'd told the woman that he'd been there with Claire earlier, she gave him a strange look. She didn't remember seeing anyone with Grissom. It had just been him and no one else.

He thanked the receptionist for her help and headed back out into the dark city street, wondering what that was all about. He glanced down at the tiny, glowing LCD display on his watch: _4:00 am_. It seemed more like the middle of the night than early morning. He pulled up the collar of his coat against the morning chill as he paced outside the CSI building, getting more flustered by the minute. Where did the heck did Claire go?

"Claire!" he called into the night, not caring if passer-bys were staring. "Claire, where are you? I want to go back, please! I want my life back! Claire! Cla—"

Grissom became very quiet. Greg had just walked out of the building, probably only now getting off work. And it looked like Nick was too. The Texan appeared behind the lab rat, his coat thrown over one shoulder. They both strode past Brass, who was busy talking to another reporter, oblivious of him and began heading in opposite directions. At that same moment, Warrick wandered by, hands in his pockets, eyes lowered. He bumped into someone as he past. That someone was Catherine. She looked a bit nervous as she headed toward the LVPD next door.

_Amazing_, Grissom thought. They were all here. Every one of his friends. His team. And yet, they weren't. Sure they looked like the Catherine, Warrick, Nick, and Greg that he knew. But it wasn't them. These people weren't a team. Each was in their own little world. Unaware that the others existed. Unaware of what they could be if they would just turn their lives around. Undo what they had become.

That was when the CSI supervisor finally realized the truth. Without him, there was no team.

A single tear trickled down his cheek. "How could I make such a stupid wish?"

He slumped into the same bench where he had spoken to Nick earlier and lowered his head into his hands. He felt so lost and confused.

"What do I do, now?" His sorrow-filled words were carried off on the wind. He wasn't expecting a response.

"You need to forgive," a soft voice suddenly said from beside him.

"What?" He snapped his head up in surprise and turned to find Claire sitting beside him, a warm smile on her face. "Where did you...?"

She cut him off. "It doesn't matter."

"What do you mean I need to forgive?" he asked instead. "Forgive who?"

"You," Claire answered simply. "Gil, you need to forgive yourself. There was nothing you could've done to stop Sara from leaving or Warrick from doing what he did. They have free will. It's not your fault."

"I should've seen what was happening. I'm their supervisor. It's my job to take care of my team."

"That doesn't mean you can control what goes on in their lives. They've both made some stupid decisions and have paid a heavy price. But that was _their_ choice."

Grissom listened without responding.

"Sara didn't leave because you pushed her away; she left because _she chose_ to leave. You didn't shove those pills down Warrick's throat; _he chose_ to take them. And you most certainly did _not_ kill that woman. Her husband pulled that trigger, not you."

It was a bit unnerving how much this woman knew about him. He turned to face her, a deep crease in his brow. "How—Who are you?"

A smile crossed Claire's face. "Like I told you before, I'm a watcher. A keeper of records. I think you prefer to call us…angels." Before Grissom could even form a response to that astonishing statement she continued, "And it doesn't matter if you believe me or not, because we believe in you." She looked at him with caring eyes. "It's time to stop blaming yourself, Gil. It's time to let go."

Grissom stared at the ground. "I don't know how."

She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Yes, you do."

Turning, he faced Claire, her outline framed by the rising sun behind her. It was a moment of decision. He waited. Claire waited. Grissom made his choice.

"Okay."

The scene before him twisted. The landscape seemed made of rubber. A hum filled his ears. Before he could speak—

White.

* * *

_Riiiiiing._

He leaped from his bed and spun on his heels, taking in his surroundings. His condo looked the same as when he'd left it…how long ago was that?

The phone on the nightstand sounded again. He snatched it up. "What?"

"Hey, Gil. It's Jim. We got a 4-19 down at the Strip."

"I'll be right there." He hung up and rubbed his face.

A dream? No. It couldn't have been a dream. It had seemed so real. But how? When? How long?

He forced himself to take several deep breaths and settle down. Sitting on the bed, he tried to sort out what had happened. He remembered showering and lying down for a quick nap. Pulling the pillow to him, he touched the material. Wet. He fingered his hair. Still wet from the shower. He couldn't have been out for long.

So it had all been a dream after all. He pulled a coat from his closet and exited the bedroom. Time to get back to work, to get back to reality. He had no stomach for it, but this was his job, his life.

* * *

Pedestrians, cars, and belching buses greeted him outside. It didn't take long to get to the address Brass had given him. The casino was one of the smaller ones on the Strip. He weaved through the squad cars that had surrounded the new crime scene. Sensing his approach, Brass turned from his post by the police tape and smiled.

"Hey, Gil."

Grissom couldn't help but smile back. He could still remember the Brass from his dream. It was nice to have the old one back. "Hi, Jim."

The police captain looked at his friend. Something had changed. The CSI supervisor seemed to walk a bit taller. And his eyes seemed a bit brighter. "You're in a good mood today," he remarked. "What's up?"

"Had the craziest dream," Grissom answered nonchalantly, heading into the building. "I'll tell you about it some time."

Knowing that his friend must be thinking that he'd lost his mind, Grissom stepped into the lobby of the casino and found his team hard at work. Or at least, three of them were. Greg was sitting in one of the lobby's comfy sofas just watching everyone else do their jobs. He suddenly noticed Grissom standing a few feet away, giving him a weird look. He slipped from his seat comically before jumping to his feet.

"Oh, hey, boss," he stammered, smiling sheepishly. "Just thought I'd take a break for minute." He fumbled around with the camera in his hands. "I'll get back to work, now."

"Yes, that would be wise," Grissom agreed. He chuckled to himself, watching as Greg quickly scurried off, snapping pictures of seemingly random things. The youngest member of his team was such a goofball sometimes. But he wouldn't have him any other way.

Nick and Warrick were standing over by a poker table, their kits sitting unopened by their feet. Playing cards were scattered all over the table, evidence of an unfinished game. The two CSIs seemed to be squabbling about something. It didn't sound work-related though. Not directly, anyway.

Nick stared at the set of cards he'd scooped up from the table, shaking his head. "Why did this guy fold? He had a full house."

Warrick smirked, staring down at the dealer's cards. "Dealer had a straight, in diamonds."

"A straight does not beat a full house," Nick said, dropping the cards back onto the table.

"Yes, it does."

"No, it doesn't"

"Yes, it does."

"No, it doesn't." Nick picked up his kit and began heading toward a row of slot machines. He had a mischievous smile on his face. "See, this is why I prefer playing Texas Hold'em."

Warrick was incredulous. "But that's a _poker_ game."

"Really? I didn't know that," Nick responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Warrick finally realized what his friend was doing and rolled his eyes, exasperated. "You are so dead, man."

"You can't kill me right now. The boss is watching."

"What?" Warrick spun around and found Grissom standing a couple of feet behind him, one eyebrow raised. He thought he heard a snicker come from Nick's direction. "Uh, hey, Gris…"

Grissom just smiled. "I recommend using poison. It's not as messy."

Nick's eyes widened at that and Warrick gave their supervisor a surprised look. Did their normally stoic boss just make a joke?

Grissom just wagged his head in good humor. The two friends were living proof that the old saying was true: Brothers fight. But they're still brothers. He flashed them another smile then went in search of the final member of his team. He didn't see Nick and Warrick share a puzzled look as he walked away.

Catherine was hovering over their DB, careful not to step in the pool of blood surrounding it, jotting down notes as Dave told her what she needed to know. The victim looked to be in his early thirties and, judging by the nice designer clothes he was wearing, was possibly loaded with cash. Nevertheless, the man's head was disfigured and he held a 9mm in his right hand, its barrel covered in blood. It looked like he'd committed suicide.

Grissom couldn't help but smile when he saw Catherine laugh at something the ME said. He hadn't seen her do that in ages and his dream version of her hadn't done it all. He missed that beautiful smile of hers. He sighed as she scratched her head, loosening a few strands of hair from her bun. She was dirty and tired but totally, wonderfully Catherine.

The said woman looked up from what she was doing, feeling someone's eyes on her. She turned around and found Grissom staring at her, a crooked smile pasted on his lips despite the grisly scene before them.

"Hey, Gil," she greeted, her brow furrowed. "Is everything all right?"

He nodded, coming to stand beside her. "Everything is good…great…wonderful!"

Catherine gave him a strange look. "Ooo-kay…"

"Need some help?" Grissom offered, changing the subject.

He lifted his kit onto the front desk and pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket, pulling them on with an experienced snap. Catherine watched him, a somewhat amused and puzzled look on her face. There was something different about him. He had a certain bounce in his step. And it looked like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. For the first time in a long time, he seemed…happy.

Something unusual suddenly caught her eye. "Hey, what happened to your kit? It's all dirty."

Grissom glanced over at his kit. He had always taken meticulous care of his field kit and the evidence-gathering tools packed neatly inside. But now his kit had traces of mud all over the bottom of it. An image from the dream returned. When he'd been following Claire to Catherine's place, a passing car had splashed him.

Grissom smiled at the mud-splattered aluminum. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Catherine arched an eyebrow. If she didn't think he was crazy before, she did now.

Grissom opened the kit, forcing his mind to recall what he had done with it in his dream. He immediately found a pair of gloves thrown haphazardly on top of everything. Its fingertips had some kind of pink residue on them. His eyes widened. _It couldn't be…_

It was the same pink stuff that he had helped Greg clean up in his dream. But that was impossible. It was only a dream…right?

Then he spotted something else that didn't belong in his kit. A folded piece of paper tucked in with the evidence labels. He carefully pulled it out and studied it for a moment. It was plain, white paper. No fancy letterhead or anything. He opened it and his eyes grew wide as he read:

_Remember, Gil…no man is a failure who has friends. _

_--Claire_

Claire was real. But how? It was just a dream. A collection of images his brain had created to keep his mind occupied while he slept. It was highly unlikely. And yet, this note seemed to prove otherwise.

"Who's Claire?" Catherine asked curiously, peering over her friend's shoulder at the note.

Grissom smiled at the memory of the compassionate stranger. Real or not, she had helped him to see that he was worth something. A vital part of the team. Irreplaceable. And in the midst of all that, he'd figured out what his heart had been trying to tell him all these years.

Grissom sighed contentedly, pocketing the piece of paper. "An old friend."

"Uh huh…" Catherine didn't really believe him. She had seen the sparkle in his eye when she'd spoken the name. But she let it him off the hook for now. "Whatever…I have work to do."

She spun around and was making her way back to the corpse when she felt warm fingers wrap around her wrist, pulling her back.

"Catherine…wait."

"Hm?" She turned and found Grissom standing right behind her, his face inches from hers.

His lips formed a smile before he pressed them against hers. She was surprised at first, but she didn't push him away and she didn't tell him stop. In fact, she kissed him right back.

Dave immediately looked away, giving them some privacy. The other three CSIs just stared, their jaws hitting the ground.

After a moment, they separated and Catherine stared at Grissom, her eyes sparkling. "Wow…"

"I'm sorry," Grissom apologized, looking embarrassed. "I shouldn't have—"

He stopped talking as Catherine's fingers touched his lips. She laughed.

"I've been waiting for you to do that for a very long time."

* * *

**The end. So, whaddaya think? Love it? Hate it? Reviews still welcome!**

**HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!**


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